Tonight I took Mia out one last time before getting ready to go to bed. While I stood on the hill shivering from the cool night breeze, I noticed my shadow stretched out in front of me. I can’t remember the last time I noticed my shadow. My legs were suddenly fifteen feet long, draping down the hill, and I couldn’t help but notice my silohouette’s hair needed a good combing.

Suddenly, it’s a summer night and I am heading home down a lamp lit street after countless rounds of Red Light Green Light in the cul-de-sac. My shadow stretches out ahead of me, arms flapping, pony tail bouncing, and I imagine it to be just as full of life as Peter Pan’s own shadow. The rest of my walk home is accomplished in fits of sudden bolts and quick stops as I try to jump ahead of my shadowed self. Every now and then I break out into spastic wiggles in hopes of outwitting my relentless mimic.

Looking down at my shape on the hill, I felt a hint of that childish enchantment with my shadow, tinged with a wistfulness for a time when all the world could be blocked out by the simple joy of electric light on hot, glittery asphalt making a stage for my silly shadow to dance.